Braiding
by phyca
Summary: Braiding hair was a safe activity, Heather Tuttle knew. So why was it different with Sarah? ONE SHOT


**A/N: Written for some porn contest at the femslashtoday livejournal a while back, the word prompt being "braiding." Not my favorite Big Love fic, but I'm just so happy to see there's finally a category here to post it.**

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Braiding hair was a safe activity, Heather Tuttle knew. It was a sign of love and devotion. Her mother and sisters would braid her hair and she theirs. It was also a sign of friendship and trust. She'd braided her friends' hair when she was younger. No big deal.

So why was it different with Sarah? Why did her chest tighten when her hand accidentally made contact with Sarah's body? Why was it that each successive time she braided Sarah's hair, they both spoke less and less? Why did the event suddenly seem so much more than it ever had been before? Why did such a simple act feel so… intimate?

"Why do you let me braid your hair?" she asked, tired of the silence. "You don't even like it braided."

Sarah's muscles tightened and twitched beneath her shirt. Heather started to undo the braid and brush out her hair again.

"I do like it," she said quietly, in a tone which made Heather nervous for some reason. "The braiding. Not the braid."

"Oh." She tried to sound chipper, but her voice caught, and the word came out as a whisper. She cleared her throat, as if that would help. "My turn?"

Sarah turned around, her eyes full of words and questions that Heather didn't have the courage or ability to understand. She found that she could neither smile nor turn away. She bit her lip.

Sarah put her hand on her shoulder and Heather felt a feeling often brought on by her friend's presence, only this time she suddenly, terrifyingly, realized what it meant – she wanted to kiss her.

She searched Sarah's eyes for a sign that she too felt it and she thought that yes, she could see it – mutual guilt, fear, longing. They didn't speak for a long while, both knowing exactly what the other felt and both too scared to do anything about it.

"Turn around," said Sarah finally, taking the brush from Heather's white-knuckled grasp and giving her shoulder a push. She obeyed and turned her back to Sarah.

She closed her eyes and prayed fast and fervently as Sarah ran the brush gently through her hair. _Give me strength. Protect me from the devil's corruption. Make these improper thoughts go away._

The brushing stopped and along with it, Heather's praying. She couldn't think or move or even breath. Something was about to happen and she was terrified to turn around, scared to see the same evil thoughts in her head reflected in Sarah's eyes.

A finger landed on her shoulder, then another and another, the weight increasing ever so slowly, until Sarah's whole hand rested there. Heather wanted nothing more than to give in to her desires and turn around and kiss her friend, but she held fast… until Sarah's hand slid down her arm to the hollow of her elbow before tracing the soft skin of her inner arm. When Sarah's fingertips touched the palm of her hand, she gave in – just a little – to the temptation and wrapped her own fingers around them tight.

Sarah's other hand crept round to her stomach, pulling Heather into her, and then climbed higher, cupping her breast, making her shiver nervously. Sarah kissed her bare neck. Heather's breath caught in her throat.

The little voice inside her head was so distant, and for once, she didn't care. When Sarah's hand slipped under her shirt, freeing her breast from the confines of her bra, she nuzzled even further into her friend. Fingers caressed her nipple and for the first time, she made a sound, breaking the steadily increasing rhythm of heavy breathing. Sarah shushed her, but didn't stop what she was doing.

Heather began to shift uncomfortably – there was a strange feeling between her legs, of fire and pressure. She thought she might explode. And though it was so very wrong, her hand dropped down, pressing hard between her legs, trying to keep the pressure at bay. Sarah smiled knowingly and slid her hand into her panties, but stopped when Heather gasped. They sat like that for a minute, Sarah's heavy breath in her ear making the pressure worse.

And so she did the only thing she could do – she unfastened her jeans and turned to beg Sarah with her eyes to touch her, to stop the pressure. Sarah responded with a kiss. Heather knew it was wrong, but her brain kept saying, _yes, this! Keep doing this!_ She listened and met Sarah's lips again and again, barely able to breathe and not caring at all.

Sarah's hand went down, and the moment she hit that spot, Heather was paralyzed. Her upper body twisted round, her head pressed into the crook of her neck, and whimpers sounded from her throat. The pressure was increasing under Sarah's rapidly moving fingers, but it no longer felt so… painful. The whimpers grew into soft cries, and she thought she heard Sarah shushing her again.

Finally her body let go of the pressure and she curled up into Sarah's arms, burying her face into her chest, guilt washing over her at what she now realized had happened. This was bad. She would burn in hell for all eternity because of the pressure between her legs and her weakness to resist the temptations of the devil.

She wanted to cry and laugh all at once.

Then Sarah began to run her fingers through her hair and Heather's anxiety began to fade.

This was love… affection… caring. Wrongdoings made you feel bad, and did not offer you peace or calm or happiness, not like what she felt now as Sarah stroked her hair, just as her mother used to do when she was little.

No, she couldn't believe it was wrong, but she knew that everyone outside of this room would preach to her of the hellfire and brimstone that awaited her, and she never wanted to leave Sarah's arms, for here everything was good and right and exactly as God intended it to be.


End file.
